


Change

by ZoeSong



Series: Always a Stark [8]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, sansan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-21 16:56:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12461991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZoeSong/pseuds/ZoeSong
Summary: Always a Stark – 5 years forward. Sansa receives a letter that makes her weep. Sandor knows why, and tries to make it better.





	Change

**Author's Note:**

  * For [swimmingfox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/swimmingfox/gifts), [UnderTheSkyline](https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnderTheSkyline/gifts).



> ~~
> 
> The great war has been over for a time, at great cost. Jon and Dany are married and rule Westeros together. Sansa is chatelaine of Winterfell and Wardeness of the North. Sandor is Sansa’s sworn shield and companion. 
> 
> Not necessarily in the same universe as “Reunion.” I picture Sandor here as a younger Rory McCann, perhaps in his mid-30s. In the books Sandor was perhaps 14 years older than Sansa by my reckoning, so I’m going with that. See the note at the end. 
> 
> Many thanks to Swimmingfox and UnderTheSkyline for their valuable feedback and suggestions that gave me confidence to post this. 
> 
> ~~

~~

 

Sansa sat alone in the godswood in the late afternoon sunshine reading a letter from Jon. Letting it drop to her lap, she brushed a tear away, and wondered why it had this effect on her.

A crunch of a footstep on the path drew her attention from the letter. Sandor came into view, and the usual flush of pleasure she felt at his presence was tempered by knowing he would see her tears. She turned away.

“Bad news, little bird?” His rich voice held a layer of sympathy.

She blinked the rest of her tears out of her eyes before answering. “No. Good news, actually.”

“Oh, aye?”

“Yes. From Jon. He and Daenerys are expecting a child.”

“Ah. All Westeros will celebrate that news. But it makes you weep?”

Sansa drew a breath, not knowing quite what to say. At last she replied in a low voice. “They are so far away. I won’t get to see the child.”

“You can go there and visit – you know they would welcome you.”

“Yes. But I won’t go there. Too many bad memories there.”

“Bad memories here. But you stay.”

“I’ve changed things here. The bad memories are gone.”

He made a slight huffing noise, and she could tell that he was thinking that he knew better. But when he spoke, he surprised her. “You’re sad because you want a child yourself. You were meant to be a mother.”

He knew her better than she knew herself. She wondered how that could be. “Perhaps so. But I won’t be.”

“Only you stopping it.”

“No. It’s _him_.” 

They both knew who _him_ was. A silence fell. Sandor shifted on his feet, then moved to the large stone where she sat. She slid over to make room for him as he sat, as she had so often done. They were almost touching – she could feel his warmth beside her. It was comforting.

“Shouldn’t let him ruin the rest of your life.”

“I know. But I – you know I can’t…I can’t.”

“How do you know if you’ve not tried?”

“ _Tried_? I would have to marry – and what sort of wife would I be if I couldn’t…?”

“Don’t have to marry to do that. Just need moon tea and discretion.”

Her mouth dropped open. That he would suggest such a thing! She turned away, embarrassed. And yet… she knew he was right. And that he had such discretion – and that he was willing. Of course he was. It was in his eyes, always there, a tacit affection just behind his usual respectful look. 

But was _she_ willing? The thought of lying with a man – even someone kind – still gave her a sick, tight feeling in her stomach. Her only experience lying with a man was with Ramsay and he had made it worse than the Seven Hells. It wasn’t for nothing that she’d refused all those men who dared to make marriage offers. Why did she think that she could do now what had seemed abhorrent for years?

And such a thing was scandalous. What if someone found out? Her servants were loyal, but everyone loved gossip and it could be spread about the castle and elsewhere. 

But then it wasn’t like she was a maid, after all. And no one need know. She only had one personal servant, and she could send her away for a time.

Sansa realized that she’d been quiet for a long time. She braved a look at Sandor, and found that he was staring across the pond as he usually did, as if nothing different had happened. She said, feeling rather foolish at how obviously she was changing the subject, “I should go and see to supper.” As if there were no perfectly capable servants who were already preparing the evening meal.

But Sandor only nodded and rose to accompany her. Perhaps she just imagined that he smiled to himself in the falling darkness.

 

~~

 

Some days passed. Sansa turned Sandor’s words over and over in her mind. Each time they passed in the hall, a hint of conspiracy seemed to hang between them, though nothing further had been said by either of them about it. 

What he had said haunted her: _Shouldn’t let him ruin the rest of your life_. No, she shouldn’t. Ramsay had said that he’d always be a part of her – and he’d be right if she didn’t at least try to go on to lead the life she’d once dreamed of. Well, not the old dreams, not of being a princess or queen. Her dreams were more humble now: she just wanted to love someone and be loved, and to have children to love as well. To have Winterfell full of laughing, playing children as she and her brothers and sister had once been.

Something stirred in Sansa. A fierce pride in who she was and what she had a right to, and a deep anger that it had been ripped from her in this way. Well, no more. 

On a crisp afternoon, between discussion of the latest recruits he’d been training and her plans for the new granary needed for the coming harvest, she said, “Sarra is going to Winter Town to visit her mother tonight. I told her there was no need to hurry back tomorrow – that I can do for myself for a day.”

His eyes registered surprise, and the corner of his mouth turned up ever so slightly. He gave a brief nod. 

Then Sansa hurried off, a bit shocked at her own daring.

 

~~

 

That night Sansa prepared for bed by herself. Wearing just her chemise and a light dressing gown, she sat brushing her hair in her chair by the fire, wondering if he’d come, wondering if he’d understood. 

There was a noise outside the door, and for a fleeting moment she was reminded of when Ramsay would come. Her stomach tensed. 

But there were no keys clanking against the door – and no mocking remarks or crudities. The door opened slowly and quietly, and it was Sandor’s face which even with its horrific scars was of the greatest welcome, and bore a tentative look, not the brutish, smirking, leering face she’d been accosted with nightly back then.

She took a deep breath and released it, trying to cleanse herself of all thoughts of _him_. She smiled tremulously at Sandor. 

Taking that as a welcome, he came all the way in, turned, and shut the door softly, bolting it as quietly as he could. She tried not to think about how she was always locked in with Ramsay. This was only the slide bolt to prevent others from coming in, not to prevent her from going out.

As Sandor turned, she saw that he had a bottle of wine with him. He lifted it slightly in offering. “It’s the sweet wine you favor.”

She nodded, unable to speak for the moment. Wine would help greatly. 

He found a glass on the little table near her, and poured some wine for her, offering her the glass. 

She drank deeply, and set the glass aside. “Thank you. I have already had my tea.”

“Oh, aye? Good.” He stood beside her, hesitant. He seemed tense. Could he be as nervous as she was?

“Please, sit down.” She waved her hand toward the other chair near the fire, then realized he might not like that, and shook her head. “Or not, I…I don’t know.”

His face softened. “It’s all right.” He pulled the chair closer to hers and sat down. “Might be we should just get used to each other for a time.”

She looked down at her hands. “Are we not used to each other?” It had been over five years since he’d come here and sworn his sword to her. Five years of working together at Winterfell, walking side-by-side, taking meals at the same table, sitting together, talking, but not really talking. She stole a look at him.

He nodded and gave her a slight smile. 

They sat in silence for a little while. Then Sandor shifted, as if uncomfortable. “You might tell me what…what he did to you. So I don’t–”

“You won’t. You won’t do what he did. No one would. Not even Joffrey.” 

Sandor just nodded slowly. Waited.

“But…but there will be scars. I’m not…pretty.” Sansa glanced nervously at him.

His eyebrows rose, unevenly as they always did. “You’re warning _me_ about scars?”

She released a breath, smiled weakly. “I know. But you asked.”

“Aye, so I did.” He sat back in his chair, clearly content to wait for her.

They sat for some time, watching the fire and drinking the wine. Well, _she_ watched the fire – she sensed that _he_ watched her. And when she finished her wine, she supposed that he would suggest that they go to bed, but instead he offered her more wine. She was touched that he was being so considerate of her nerves.

But her stomach was so tense that she feared she might lose the wine along with the light supper she’d eaten earlier. “No, thank you. But have some yourself if you like. Though I know it isn’t your favorite.”

“I had a bit of my own favorite earlier. I’ve had enough.”

She nodded. “You don’t get drunk like you once did.”

He shook his head. “It’s been years since I’ve wanted to drink that way. And I certainly don’t want to tonight.” He looked at her with warmth in his eyes.

She blushed and looked down at her hands. “I suppose we should start.”

He took her hand calmly, slowly, and as she turned to him, she could see the patience and kindness in his eyes. He reached his other hand up to her cheek and gently cupped it, speaking softly in his rich, warm voice. “Are you sure you want this?”

Summoning her courage, she nodded slowly. Then she rose, and still holding his hand, and led him to the bed. When she came to it, she dropped his hand, turning, suddenly unsure of what to do. 

But he knew. Whispering, “little bird,” he took her in his arms, and kissed her tenderly. 

Tears came to her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered.

He raised his eyebrows, as if incredulous that she should thank him. Then he pulled the furs back for her, and waited while she removed her dressing gown and climbed awkwardly into the bed. She wondered if she should have taken off her chemise. But she just couldn’t. Perhaps she wouldn’t. She found herself shy – she couldn’t look at him. She waited, but nothing happened.

Finally she turned to steal a glance at him and found that though he had started to undress, he was standing there in his small clothes, just looking at her. Undressed, he seemed somehow vulnerable, just a normal man, despite his great stature. He seemed hesitant, perhaps because she was. And she knew that if she sent him away now, he would go, but that she would never dare ask him to come back. 

She beckoned to him with her hand, then turned her eyes away, in case he would undress completely. A moment later she felt the bed dip under his weight and he slid into the bed beside her. She felt the warmth of his body beside her, and wondered what it would be like. She knew he would be gentle, but still it frightened her.

He took her into his arms and just held her for a time, whispering softly, “Alright?” He stroked her hair, and seemed to be waiting for her to relax.

She nodded against his fingers as he smoothed a few strands of her hair away from her forehead.

Then, always checking to see that she continued to be willing, he took things step by step, slowly, cautiously. Kissing her cheek, her neck, caressing her arms, her shoulders, and repeatedly stroking her hair. 

“What…what should I do?” Sansa’s voice trembled a little.

“Whatever you’d like. You needn’t do anything if you don’t wish.” 

Reaching her hand up tentatively to touch his face, she recalled that awful night of the Blackwater when he’d come to her. She wondered if he remembered as well. He’d wept then.

She brushed his face with her fingertips and he sighed. And bent to kiss her. His kisses were light, sweet, and yet held passion. She wondered for a moment what she was doing. And yet did not stop him.

She thought he’d undress her, but he only continued his kisses and caresses. Perhaps he preferred not to see her scars. Or perhaps she preferred him not to see them. 

But then he said, softly, “It might be nicer without this.” He tugged gently at her chemise, slowly starting to lift it from her legs. But he paused, waiting for her instructions.

She nodded. And she held her breath as he lifted it over her head, helping her to rise so he might remove it entirely. She felt vulnerable, to be naked in bed with him, and yet…

He sighed, and smiled so sweetly – not the leering, creepy way that Ramsay had – that she could only blush. A slight shadow crossed his face as he took in her scars, but he said nothing, just went back to caressing and kissing her, his hands soothing as they slid over her body. When he reached the side of her waist, he started to turn her over.

She stiffened. “No, please.” And she drew her legs up to her.

Sandor touched her knee lightly. “As you say. Always.” He kissed her knee, and lay down beside her. “We can stop if you like.”

And again, she drew a deep breath and slowly released it. “No, I just…. No, I don’t want to stop. But I want to see your face. Always.”

He smiled, chuckling a little, and she realized the irony of what she’d said. No doubt few women had ever said that to him. She smiled back.

And so it went for some time more, his kisses making her more brave, her arms going around him, just a little. A bit at a time, he undressed, until he too was naked beside her. She was a little startled to see how broad and hairy Sandor’s chest was, for Ramsay had been slender and bare. She was glad of the difference. 

When at last it came to the moment, Sandor still waited, whispering, “Alright?”

“Yes.” And though it made her tremble, she went through with it. And found that though it was not the joyous thing she’d once dreamed of as a young girl, it was not terrible. He was kind, gentle, loving. And whispered, “Sansa” in her ear as he finished.

And after, he lay on his back, sighing. He reached for her, pulling her into his arms, and drawing her head onto his shoulder, whispering, “Ah, girl.”

She lay against him, weeping quietly. No one had ever done this with her before. 

“I’m sorry, little bird. Not so good for you as I would wish.” He wiped away a tear with his thumb. 

She shook her head against his shoulder. “No, it’s not that. It’s just – the relief. It wasn’t terrible as I thought it might be.”

He drew her tighter to him, then chuckled to himself. “Just what a man wants to hear.”

She laughed lightly too. “You know what I mean.”

“Aye. And I’m glad. But you didn’t take your pleasure.”

She shook her head slowly. “No. I think it might be some time before I can take pleasure in it. For now I am only glad I didn’t take fright – or take ill.” And it was true – her stomach, though it had been tense for most of the time, did not turn, and now she truly felt nothing but relief.

Sandor raised his head slightly to kiss her temple, then rested his head back against hers.

They lay quietly together, and Sansa was filled with a sense of comfort and safety, lying against Sandor’s big, warm body. She had not imagined that she would feel this way with a man since that brief time when she’d hoped to be wed to Loras Tyrell. She sighed. “It’s lovely lying here with you.”

“Is it now?” And he began to laugh. She could feel his laugh vibrating in his chest against her ear.

“Why are you laughing? Is it not so for you?” She felt a sudden pang – was she wrong in thinking that he felt something for her? 

He must have heard her doubt, for he tightened his arm around her protectively, and spoke reassuringly. “Aye, and even better. If you only knew how long I dreamed of lying with you. I had only ever expected it to be a dream.”

Relieved, she relaxed against him again, sighing. They lay together for some time that way, listening to the night sounds outside the window.

After awhile, Sandor stirred slightly. “Well, now you can wed, little bird. You know you’ll be fine. You just have to find the right man.”

She nodded against him. She was quiet for a few moments, then grew daring. “I have already found the right man.” 

He raised his head a little. “What? Who? I’ve not seen you favor any man.” He looked at her sharply. “Hornwood? No, he wed again, didn’t he? Oh, gods, not that fool Cerwyn?”

It was her turn to laugh. “No, of course not.” 

“Now you are laughing.” He looked at her quizzically.

“Ah, Sandor,” she said, trying out his name with the proper affection. She ventured to put her hand on his chest. “There is only one man I’ve invited to my bed.”

He was slow to realize what she meant, then seemed startled, and then sighed as if in relief, laying his head back down. And then sighed again. “But I’m no proper husband for you. I’m no high lord. Folks won’t like it.”

“I don’t need a high lord. Those days are gone. And Jon promised me that I would have the choosing of my own husband if I should ever marry. He will be glad that I have found a man who is loyal to me and will be good to me.” 

“Not sure your father would approve.” 

“And yet you are brave and gentle and strong, just the sort of man my father once said that he’d find for me to marry.”

Sandor just lay there, shaking his head. At last he whispered, “But can you really want me?” She did not know if it was in doubt, or wonder. 

“Yes,” she whispered back. She had not even been sure until tonight. But now she was certain. “I have cared for you for some time, but would not let myself think of it because I believed I could not do this.” She paused thoughtfully. “I may not always be able to…I have bad days, you know.”

“Aye, I know.” He loosened his arm from around her, just a bit, caressing her gently. “And it will always be just as you say.”

She pressed herself against him affectionately. “And you doubted that you are the right man for me.” She sighed contentedly, then grew pensive. “Perhaps I should ask if you really want me?”

He pulled away a bit to look at her, incredulous. “Girl, I have loved you since I first laid eyes on you.” 

“But I was just a child!”

“No, I don’t mean that I loved you that way, not then, not yet. There was a goodness about you, a pureness, a kindness that I loved. That I wanted to serve, though I didn’t quite know how. And when you became a woman…then it was all I could do not to carry you off. But I knew you weren’t for me.”

“Well, I am now.” She snuggled against him again, surprising herself at her boldness.

He hugged her tightly, and kissed the top of her head. “If you are certain. But our children must take the Stark name so it will not die out.”

Sansa smiled broadly in the dim light. And she knew that she was making the right choice. She would always have the right man by her side, and there would always be a Stark in Winterfell.

 

~~

 

On a bright day when the green leaves of summer were shimmering in the breeze, Sansa and Sandor were married under the weirwood tree. Sansa felt radiant in her new gown – Tully Blue as Sandor had requested, with wolf and hound brooches at her waist. Sandor stood tall beside her, his new gray cloak billowing behind him. Together they repeated the deathless words: “I am yours and you are mine….”

 

~~

**Author's Note:**

> ~~
> 
> While I have put this among my other “Always a Stark” pieces, it is not necessarily in the same universe as the other stories. I had Sansa say that she would never marry again, and after such a terrible trauma that she went through with Ramsay, I could really see her wanting nothing to do with another man. I liked that this was a choice she could be allowed to make; that the men in her family would respect her choice. But somehow this story wended its way through my head anyway. Perhaps, after so many years of healing, and with the development of trust and companionship between her and Sandor, and with her longing for love and marriage and children, she could bring herself to “try” to be with a man. The right man. So I will let the reader decide if it’s the same universe or a slightly different one.
> 
> I used the name “Hornwood” as someone who perhaps Sansa might have married, since in the show, the name Hornwood was mentioned in a list of some of the houses that were loyal to Jon. But in the books, this was a house destroyed by the Boltons. In the show, Lyanna Stark berated Lord Cerwyn because his father had been skinned alive, but he’d not “heeded the call” to support the Starks taking back Winterfell.
> 
> Finally, while I’ve pondered over and polished this piece more than my other “Always a Stark” pieces, it may still be a bit raw. I didn’t want to wait any longer to post it, so there could be some typos or word errors. Please let me know if you see anything so I can correct it. You can send it to zoesong7 at g mail dot com or through the messenger on tumblr where I am Zoesongs. Thanks. 
> 
> Thanks for reading. I love comments, so please feel free!
> 
> ~~


End file.
